“I know you want to see as much of your daughter during her winter break as possible, but I already booked a get away cabin ski package for Valentine’s day.”
“Well, I’m sorry it is the same time. Tell you what — phone the resort and see if she can come along. That will be even more fun than Christmas – without the distraction of a bunch of other kids around, we can really have family time.”
My heart sank, then did a few gymnastic moves in my chest. My brain was playing cinematic flashbacks of my first encounter with my stepdaughter on Christmas Eve, or more properly the wee hours of Christmas day, of her kissing me under the mistletoe; of making out like we were teenagers – though, at eighteen, Emma still was one – of her playing with my cock; her first time touching a real one. Then she had taken me in her mouth, sucking me until I exploded. I had wanted to return the favour, to taste her virgin clit, but she had been in a hurry for me to deflower her, right there on the floor by the Christmas tree. I still owed her that cunt lapping, and still had hopes of taking her anal virginity, but the hustle and bustle of her short Christmas break had kept her too busy for alone time with her stepdad. We had discretely texted and chatted since — I knew she was saving her ass for me, though she was fucking college boys, and had sucked one prof. What I did not know was whether her Mom had found out about my taboo infidelity. If it wasn’t bad enough that I cheated, I had to do it with her daughter.
My heart sank every time I realized the trouble that might cause. I love my wife. Plus, she is my boss in her Dad’s company, and in this economy, I did not want to lose my job and have to start over selling odd lots over the phone or worse yet, a jobber hustling product from gas station to corner store.
My brain understood logically that Emma likely would come home for the summer, but my lusty devil in the base of the brain rationalized that summer offered the perfect combination of space and opportunity so that I could find time to fulfil my unrequited desires, but avoid situations where my transgressions might be revealed. A week in close quarters in the snow country would be just the opposite — all the desire would bubble to the surface, and was likely to explode at the worst possible moment.
I had no chance though to avoid the disaster – my wife wasn’t leaving the room until I called the lodge. Then when they said that they were sold out and no two bedroom units were available, she told me to arrange an extra ski package for Emma, who could easily sleep on the couch in the cabin. She’s the boss. I did as instructed.
As soon as I hung up the phone though she saw my pout and asked what was wrong.
“I had planned this as a romantic interlude,” I covered up. “Tough to do that with Emma around.”
“There will be a wall between our room and her, and a door on the bathroom. Plus I’m sure she’ll find lots of kids her age to hang around with. We’ll have lots of opportunity.”
Her eyes travelled downward at that moment from my face to my groin, where she immediately noticed the erection that I had grown recalling my experience with Emma, which had solidified even harder when my wife spoke of fucking in the shower with Emma just outside.
“Someone is still excited,” she purred kittenishly. We had been fuck buddies for years before getting married, and she had lost none of her enthusiasm. Leaning in toward me, her lips met mine as her hand stroked my shaft through my sweatpants. While her tongue wrestled its way inside my mouth, pushing past my teeth, she moved her hand up to caress my hairy belly, and effortlessly slid inside the waistband of the sloppy Saturday sweats, cupping my hardness in her palm.
I could feel her braless nipples rock hard against my chest, separated only by our thin T-shirts. I was glad that her face was flush to mine, because I was sure I was blushing at the mental comparison of how that sensation so closely matched a moment with Emma, while she still had her nightshirt on. The recollection had the benefit of making my balls tighten up against my taint, and my helmet swell, my piss hole gaping open, leaking pre-cum onto my wife’s hand, which felt so remarkably like her daughter’s.
My hands grasped her shirt on either side, ready to rip it if she didn’t stop kissing long enough for me to remove it. She would need to break the lip lock anyway, as I was determined to taste her nipples, to kiss down her belly, and eat her clit.
My wife, however, had other ideas. She took a half step back, still holding the kiss, but angling her body, and then she moved her mouth, licking down my throat, lifting my shirt to bathe my chest in her saliva, planting a forest of tiny pecks around my navel. The entire time, her fist pumped my shaft. I ached so urgently that only the tightness of her grip held me back from premature ejaculation.
One deft twist of her wrist exposed my groin fully to the air, but in an instant, her mouth danced bahis firmaları through my hair and bounced up over the top of my cock. Her tongue flitted around the rim at the bottom of my swollen head briefly, more confidently than anything Emma had accomplished in her maiden efforts. My wife licked up all the seeping precum, and teasingly stabbed the tip of her tongue right into my opening, a trick she knew I enjoyed.
She was so expert that, in that moment, I wondered why I had ever considered risking loosing her for Emma’s tentative talents. Which thought exploded in my mind as my wife’s mouth closed over my cock head, her lips sliding effortlessly along the silky outer sheath of my shaft. One flick of her fingernail against my scrotum triggered my seed to explode, flooding her mouth with great gobs of goo. Her fingers stayed busy, kneading my balls, milking all of my seed up and out my shaft, her lips remaining tight until my spasms reduced to trickles. Then, she opened her mouth, leaving my shrinking cock head laying on her tongue, letting me watch as she caught the final gasps of my climax, lapping up the seepage.
With a huge grin, my sperm glistening on her teeth, my wife sat back up and grabbed handfuls of my hair, pulling my mouth to her lips, sharing my seed between us. I remembered the first time she had done that, in a coat check room at a sales convention, how she had broken the kiss and whispered, “sealing our love”, just as she did now.
This time, however, I felt a surge of guilt at having been blown by her teenage daughter. The first time she had said it, she had giggled afterwards and assured me that she was just kidding, that ‘a blow job is just a blow job’ and she knew the difference between love and lust. We had not been exclusive for quite a while. I wondered how she would react if she found out we were not exclusive again.
“Don’t worry, honey, it will be fun,” she said, feeling my fretfulness, but misinterpreting it. “Emma is a good girl. She’ll have fun too.”
Just what sort of fun Emma would expect was my worry.
The days passed quickly before our Valentine’s treat, as my wife liked to refer to the trip. We both put extra energy and effort into work to make sure that everything was in order. Our sex during that time period was hurried, nervous, routine married fucking. Which was so unlike our usual voracious appetites that my wife felt that she had to assure me that her Dad would cover for us, that the trip would not be interrupted, saying “and even missionary position fucking with you is so much better than any guy I’ve ever been with before. Your cock is the perfect fit for my cunt, it throbs just right as you fill me up with your offerings, and it’s not every man who not only goes down after coming, but does it with such enthusiasm.”
Once again, she misunderstood why I was nervous; that as I licked my wife my mind turned to thoughts of tasting Emma’s young cunt overflowing with my seed. And I supposed the sex wasn’t all that typical of married couples — at least if you believe the mutterings of my sales staff, who thought carpet munching should be reserved for lesbian sex scenes in the porn they charged to their hotel rooms, and then had to reimburse the company, while begging me not to tell their wives. My standard “we all have our secrets” answer had become more true in this new year.
I knew that my wife loved me, but I feared what Valentine’s day might bring – and as fate would have it, Emma’s travel arrangements ended up such that she would arrive at the cabin right on February 14th.
Her mother was disappointed that Emma could not join us earlier, but the young woman had school activities to finish up during the first part of her winter break. So we arrived at the resort as a couple, like we had originally planned. Though we partook of the full range of activities — alpine skiing, cross country skiing, snowshoeing, snowmobiling, hiking – they were just interludes between the vigorous athletic sex that seemed to start the moment we arrived in our cabin, and stop only when we left. Heck, we even got up to some risky play on the chairlift, on the back of the sleigh during a Sunday evening hay ride and on the deck overlooking the frozen lake which was the focal point of the resort for summer fun.
In fact, the sex had started on the plane trip to the resort. Though we were both veteran travellers, we had discussed often how neither of us had joined the mile high club. On this plane, we had seats near the rear, where there was a washroom. Both stews were busy starting drink service from the front of the plane, so after my wife giggled, whispered “did you know I’m not wearing panties?” and dragged my fingertips across her wet labia to prove it, we scooted quickly into the lavatory. She did not have to touch my pants to know that my cock was hard and ready, threatening to burst my zipper.
She went in first, pirouetting like a very horny ballerina to snug her ass into the space between the sink and bulkhead, tugging kaçak iddaa me close to her. Our lips locked in a bruisingly urgent kiss, hands exploring like high schoolers. I grasped her ass in both hands and lifted her up so that I could run my teeth along her throat until I reached her blouse. Her hands quickly fumbled the buttons open, allowing my lips access to her engorged nipples. I alternately sucked each tit while her fingers found the button at my waist, loosening my pants. I continued nibbling as her hand started stroking my hardness.
“You’re so…big, so firm, so ready,” she moaned, in that voice that sounded so much like her daughter, who once again, I found myself thinking about as I made love to my wife. Part of me remained remote from the act, wondering whether what I had done with Emma was also making love, or just fucking.
Soon her stroking had achieved a furious pace. And she shifted her ass in my grip so that her naked pussy lips were rubbing against the tip of my cock.
“Fuck me now, fuck me hard, I need to come,” she sighed, sharping my focus back purely into that moment.
I had to stop sucking her nipples and gasp for air as she guided my length into her wetness. We were both crazy with desire as I started slowly driving in and out of her by rocking up and down off my toes. I pushed hard, burying my full pulsating piston into her, which, combined with the taboo of fucking just a few feet away from a plane full of people, quickly pushed her over the edge
“Feels sooo good…” she muttered into my ear dreamily, and then nibbled my lobe. Her cunt was pushing down on my cock and at the same time her pelvic muscles were clenching around my shaft.
“Now you have to fill me up,” she whispered, somehow making my turn still about her.
She grabbed her own nipples and twisted them, triggering another climax. Then we were both completely lost in the passionate intensity of the moment. I felt every muscle in her body stiffen and release as she climaxed yet again just as my load of milky sweet seed surged up my shaft and gushed out of my tip inside my wife. Her climax seemed to last forever as we came together.
“It’s like I can feel every drop as it explodes out of your cock.” she breathed as her orgasm slowed and I expelled one final spurt into her.
She sealed the moment with another deep kiss, and as she straightened her clothes she said “If you think that is great, imagine our Valentine’s treat.”
Then she kissed my nose playfully, as if for emphasis, while I was fumbling my softening cock back into my pants so that we could slink back to our seats, hopefully before the drinks cart arrived. Once again, I could not help but notice the playfulness which Emma had inherited.
With that start, it really took on the flavour of a second honeymoon. The shuttle bus provided to the resort was too public for more than hand holding and meaningful gazes, but every time our eyes met, she broke out in giggles. Once, she playfully nibbled at my ear.
We barely got checked in before she ran to our cabin, started stripping, and threw herself onto the bearskin rug in front of the hearth. Fortunately, the resort had thought to have a fire going for our arrival.
“I didn’t have a chance to properly clean your cock on the plane,” she said. “I hope if anybody caught the scent, they weren’t too jealous.”
I obeyed as she crooked a finger in the universal come hither gesture. She had an easier time with my pants than aboard the plane. My cock was surging semi-hard again already when it flopped loose and she wasted no time slurping my full length deep into her throat. After a few quick head bobs though, she backed off and started slowly, carefully, laving up down and all around my shaft, paying extra attention to the area below the head, and the ridge where shaft and helmet joined.
Emma had nowhere near the cock sucking skills of her mother, though she seemed to have inherited the passion. Again, I had to wonder why I was thinking about my stepdaughter at such moments, and worried about how she might impact our Valentine’s treat. But also once again, the sensuality before me washed away the worries. I had not had a chance to lick Emma’s sweet young cunt, but I loved to eat her mother, even with a slightly less than fresh load of my cream inside that crevice.
Since my wife still had no panties on, it was simple for me to slowly ease myself to the floor in stages so that she could adjust, never entirely stopping her oral ministrations, but accommodating my returning the favour. Before long, we were snuggled on the rug in a sixty-nine position, me mostly on top, but tangled up.
I lapped at her hard pearly nubbin, making it dance with my tongue just like her lips were dancing around my cock. I reached through her shirt to toy with her nipples as much as I could without stopping fucking her with my face, working my tongue deep into the darkest recesses of her cunt, searching out every morsel of my remnants, finding kaçak bahis more as she got wetter and wetter and the dried bits moistened. I did not stop because she had a shivering orgasm, in spite of the fire’s heat.
She had long since licked my cock clean, but did not stop there. I was steely hard again, and she treated me to a good old fashioned tea bagging, taking me so far into her throat that my balls were smacking her cheeks as she writhed on the rug.
As warm as the fire made the cabin, it was not as hot as her mouth, so I noticed immediately when she eased her mouth off my cock, which by then was aching for release. I paused with a couple of fingers poised within her labia, where I had been about to wriggle them to add to her pleasure. She shifted smoothly and swiftly, her skirt still bunched around her waist, her lower abdomen now pressed against the back of the bear’s head, her naked buttocks presented to me.
“Fuck me from behind,” she moaned, “you know how much I love it when you enter me from there.”
I complied, starting my rubbing the tip of my cock around her lower labia, making sure my flesh was good and moist with her wetness as I pressed slowly into her on that first thrust. It took all my self-restraint not to impale myself immediately with my raging hard-on. Her back arched and I took two handfuls of her dangling tits as I slowly pushed deeper within her womb.
My fucking her daughter had been on a hearth rug, but although I had fantasized briefly about taking Emma doggy-style, I had deflowered her in missionary position. Fucking my wife from behind made me wonder once again what taking Emma in a similar style might be like. I had compared Emma silently to her Mom while fucking the daughter, and now, I was doing the opposite. I felt secret shame knowing that my cock pulsed harder because of it.
My wife squeezed her pussy around my shaft but I slid back until only the head weighed in her opening, and then I drove back in swiftly, burying myself deep, right to the root.
“Is this what you want?” I grunted.
She fucked her hips up against me in silent response.
My balls started slapping against the flesh where her wet pussy lips curved up to meet her ass, her thighs slamming up to meet mine. I released her tits and gripped her hips, pile-driving our bodies together. I felt her climax around my cock but just kept going, once again moving my hands to her tits, kneading them in my fingers, feeling her rhythm alter to match my tempo. I kept up the hard fucking, adjusting my grasp on her tits, capturing her nipples between my fingers, squeezing them hard, which made her thrash wildly from side to side. I pushed the weight of my body down onto her and gently nibbled the back of her neck just above the top of her spine.
“Oh fuck me! I’m cumming so hard!” she screamed, her entire body convulsing uncontrollably. “Oh, fuck! Don’t stop!”
In that instant, I realized that once Emma arrived, not only would fucking in front of the fire be out, but her mother would have to climax more quietly.
I released one breast, my hand sliding along her ribs until I curled it under her body, touching her clit. Her orgasms were coming in waves by then, but this triggered a sudden blast of intensity which I felt clamping around my cock. One last pinch of her bud. Her pussy spasming around my cock and I pumped another blast of sperm inside of her.
Spent, I soon softened and rolled off of her, and we both must have fallen asleep, because the next thing we knew, it was morning and we had spent the night in front of the dying fire, on the bear skin rug.
All week, my wife and I had great fun. I kept asking if the latest kink was my Valentine’s treat, and she kept saying “It isn’t Valentine’s day yet.”
I could not help but wonder how Emma’s presence might crimp her Mom’s style in offering me a treat. Only in that dark basement of my brain did I allow myself to hope that Emma WAS the treat, but every time that thought appeared, it was squelched by logic arguing that my wife had given no sign of knowing about my carnal knowledge of her daughter, and had given no hint of offering any further extra-marital taboo sex as a treat.
That internal debate always left me bummed out, convinced that Emma’s presence would somehow ruin everything. I never was much of a poker player, and wore my concern on my face. This led my wife to think I was not having enough fun, so she kept on adding to our activity list, and to our sexual smörgåsbord.
“You’re like a big baby boy who can’t wait ’til Christmas for your present,” she said on Tuesday after we had gotten each other off with our fingers under the table in the dining room.
That just brought back mixed feelings from memories of Emma on Christmas Eve, of how she had been such an incredible gift to me, but she had throughout insisted that I was the gift to her. No matter how much logic argued that my wife and I exchanged gifts sexually just as enthusiastically as I had with Emma, my internal skeptic argued that the trade-offs in the marriage had become routine, boring — that the very thrill seeking we shared had become a stale bit of play acting, a search for something we were missing.